


To The Horizon

by I_Am_A_Silver_Lining



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, BAMF Bobby Singer, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer is a Saint, Dean Winchester as The Darkness, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean gets his powers later on, Demons, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sam Winchester is God, Spiritual Journeys, he is very done with the boys shit, not really but they like to joke, sam gets his first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2019-10-02 14:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17265728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_A_Silver_Lining/pseuds/I_Am_A_Silver_Lining
Summary: God is dead. Amara is, too. And somewhere, far far away, two brothers open their eyes to a new horizon.ORin which God and Amara die and leave their powers to a Sam and Dean in another universe. Their powers awaken after Lucifer is freed.





	1. Genesis

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A New Beginning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881771) by [MonPetitTresor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonPetitTresor/pseuds/MonPetitTresor). 



 

 

It all ended quietly. No screams, no thunderous roar or pounding of destruction. Nothing.

God died in a single Moment, between one breath and the next.

And there was _nothing_.

 

And then the Darkness destroyed **_everything_ **.

 

 

 

The Darkness, Amara, was alone. There was nothing left of her brother’s creation. Not a speck of dust or flicker of light. No souls in heaven, for there was no more heaven. Or Hell. Or Purgatory. There was nothing but her and The Empty.

It had been eons since the instant she had destroyed Creation, her brother. And ever since, she had felt nothing but remorse for her actions. A deep rooted pain echoed within her, the jagged edges of her very being aching where her brother was supposed to be. She could feel the traces of where he once was, phantom echos of his Grace along the rip inside her.

Amara’s grief was immense, not only for her brother (though he was the majority), but for his creations as well. The Host, and His favored children: humanity. She thought hard over all them, recalling what she had seen and experienced in her short time among them. Hindsite gave her a new perspective, and she could, begrudgingly, see why he loved his creations.

Amara regretted it all. So much. She wished she could go back, rewrite the script and prevent herself from killing her brother. She wished she could bring him back. But not even time was an escape from death for a primordial being such as her and her brother. When they died, they died not only in that instant, but in all time and in all space. No going back from or preventing her mistake.

And so, alone in the Empty, Amara mourned for all she had lost.

 

 

 

It was longer still, Amara existed alone, her sadness an impenetrable force.

But then, so long after everything had ended, she felt something. A flicker, a whisper of light. Of Grace.

The Darkness grasped desperately at the flicker of light, cradling the small wisp in the center of her being. She weeped from unbelievable joy at the feel of Grace, the smallest of fragments of Him.

She cradled and nurtured the wisp for ages, urging it to grow and _live_. But it soon proved futile. The Grace, while Him, held nothing of Him. No consciousness, no thoughts or feelings flitted about the Grace. It was stagnant and dead in her grasp.

In that moment, her being shattered once again, the budding hope she had allowed herself to feel ripping away harshly and taking more with it than she could handle.

Losing her brother once was unbearable, losing him a second time was _agonizing._

 

She could already feel it, her darkness eating away at itself, ripping apart pieces that floated away and became nothing within the vastness of the Empty. She knew, soon, she would join her brother wherever he rested.

It was as if a switch was flipped with that thought. There was no fear in her at the thought of her ceasing to exist, just sheer determination and rage. She couldn’t leave everything as it was. She couldn't leave her brother’s creations as they were.

Using her power she reached out, hands dipping through time and space to Moment it all ended, the hairsbreadth before the end. And in that Moment she grasped the two things she was looking for and pulled them through.

_Not like this, never like this…_

She poured the empty Grace within one, her Darkness within another, the fragments aligning within them before settling.

Invigorated, Amara reached back out, grasping at threads and tattered remains of her brother’s creation.

Back in the Moment, Amara had destroyed this universe and all in it. It the first of all Verses created. The first thing created within a snap of his His fingers. This universe had been an anchor to the multitude of others and since all had been without it, all would die. Every universe, alternate timeline, mirror dimension would collapse within a matter of time. The shockwave of destruction rippling out like a drop of water in a still pond. Many had been destroyed already. Billions of them collapsing without the tie to the first. But there were few more, and Amara could save those ones for her brother.

So she grasped and she pulled, pouring every ounce and inch of her power along the strings left of Creation and anchoring them once again, to a universe similar, but different to the first. Her power dug through the mesh of its creation, darkness sinking into the fabric and locking the strings into place. With a new anchor in place, the other universes were safe for now. It would buy time for someone to fix them.

But not her.

A wisp of Darkness cradled the two fragments of Creation and Destruction, power drained and will to continue gone. With the last bit Amara had left, she pushed the two fragments along the strings and into the the new anchor universe.

Amara faded away, echos of her brother’s Grace lulling her into an unfamiliar darkness. And for the first time in a long time, she felt joy.

  
  


God is dead. Amara is, too. And somewhere, far far away, two brothers open their eyes to a new horizon.


	2. In The Beginning...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... There was SAM

 

The church shook around them, pieces of rock and plaster falling from the ceiling. Cracks webbed through the pillars as the Grace of Lucifer poured out of the opening to the cage, shaking the building at he screeched in victory. Freedom.

Sam and Dean stumbled around, fists full of each other’s shirts as they fought to stay upright. The other was pressed against their ears in a futile attempt to block the noise. Their eyes scrunched up against the light, the burn of unfiltered Grace in their retinas.

Sam was certain that Dean was yelling his name, but he couldn’t hear it over the ringing of Lucifer’s voice, a voice he could _hear_ . He could hear the words, the screaming of wicked glee, of unending rage, of overwhelming _relief_.

 _Freedom_ . **_Freedom._ ** He chanted it over and over, louder and louder until Sam was sure his brain would melt out of his head through his ears.

And just when Sam was sure it was the end, that this monumental blunder of his would finally cash in his one way train ticket to Hell, something _shifted_.

It was the strangest feeling, like someone running warm fingers along his insides, or that feeling you get when you drink cool water after a hot day and you swear the cold water is rolling down your ribs like a waterfall. The feeling filled him up, from his toes, to the very tips of his fingers. He could feel it behind his eyes and along the edges of his ears and slithering up along his back.

Sam felt everything, all the things around and in him. He could feel each individual atom in the air, the blades of grass outside, the movement of the Earth under his feet and the pull of gravity that carried it around the Sun. Information crashing into his brain, jumbled up and disorienting.

Lucifer’s voice became clearer and clearer, the Grace becoming less painful to him. He was rushed with the strangest feeling of familiarity among the chaos of it all, like coming across a smell that brought you back to that one day in third grade when your childhood crush hugged you and their scent surrounded you.

Everything happened in the span of a second, the feeling suspended in the infinite space between the ticks of the clock.

And it freaked him the fuck out.

Next thing he knows, the warmth within him reaches out and pulls.

And, to the world around them, Sam and Dean disappeared from the church.

  


It was a gradual thing. It happened so slowly, creeping up at him from behind that he never took notice of it. Like someone steadily applying pressure on someone’s whole body, they adjusted, adapted, and only noticed when one thing set off a chain reaction that linked all the symptoms together like a red thread on a bulletin board.

  


Both Dean and Sam agreed not to think too hard on how they got into that plane after Lucifer was freed. They chalked it up to angels and then firmly put it in one of those ‘if we don’t acknowledge it, it will go away’ categories.

Going to Chuck’s house next was an experience. When Sam came face to face with him, things got… trippy. He really didn’t have the words for it.

His heart hammering in his body, a burn of anger and anxiety pulled at his chest, like hands pushing out against his ribs, reaching for the prophet.

Chuck had gotten a glazed look in his eyes at this, staring off at a point over Sam’s shoulder like he was seeing a whole other thing. A soft, sad smile crossed his face, like a sick man at peace on his deathbed. But the look left his face just as quickly before he refocused on the two brothers.

He explained what had happened after Castiel had shoved Dean through time and space to the church in Ilchester. Cas had died, smote by Raphael. ‘Exploded like a waterbloon  of chunky soup’ was how he put it, and it was a visual Sam could had easily lived without.

The burn in his chest was pressing harder and harder by the second, he fought against it, trying to calm down. It was distracting, and Dean was beginning to notice all was not ok with his brother.

The angels showing up was a welcome distraction. Or, it would have been., had the burn not started reaching for _them_ , too. Sam spent the whole time breathing deep, shoving down his anger and panic into the deepest part of him he could. Slowly, the burn receded until it was just a soft, barely-there feeling in his chest.

After that, he forgot about it for a awhile. Between trying to talk to Dean about what happened and getting rebuffed, then _Becky_.

Less said about that, the better.

 **_Yikes_ **.

But then the message from Chuck, the Michael’s sword, and then him confessing to Bobby and the… conversation after.

God, that had hurt. Bobby’s words ripping into body like hooks and yanking away, taking flesh and bone with it. And it hurt worse, because Bobby had _every right_ to say those things, to tell Sam to get out of his life and never come back. He had _every right._  

So Sam walked, out of the hotel and to the nearby church, desperate for a moment to gather himself. He made it to the church, but didn’t go in, sitting down on the front steps and forcing himself to breathe deeply and evenly. A storm raged in his head and everything hurt. He felt raw, like every layer of skin had been peeled back and his innards bared to the elements. Every gust of wind, every laugh from kids playing in the street, the birds, the cars and trees. It   _hurt_ . Because he knew that there was every chance that it would all not be here soon, that everything would die and it was _his fault_.

It took him awhile to see it, to separate his own feelings from what was being… projected? He didn’t have the word for it. But it was there, a feeling of wrong, gross, twisted and nasty. It had mixed so well with what he was already feeling that he hadn’t noticed it until he had forcibly calms himself down and realized it wasn’t him. And instantly feels like an idiot.

He had been in the presence of demons for a long time now, he knew the feeling of them. His psychic powers allowed him to feel their presence for months now and he had been the fool to let one slip under his nose at the worst moment.

As Sam booked it back to the hotel, he tried to pinpoint the moment his demon alarms began blaring and he couldn’t. His mind was just too jumbled up to think right. Now all he could think of was that there were demons about and Lucifer was out and he controlled demons so what if the demons were there on his orders and oh shit oh shit _oh shit!_

He made it back just in time to see Bobby on the floor and get slammed in the face by a phone.

Fucking _Meg_.

She kicked him in the nuts and taunted him about his demon powers. He got beat up some more and then, after Dean ganked the other demon, she fled. Oozing out of her meat suit like a genie in a bottle. They stared for a second at the dead body before there was a rush of movement.

Bobby. Fuck, _Bobby_.

They got him to the ER, but they couldn’t stay no matter how much they wanted to. They had to get to the sword before the demons. So they get there, the demons are dead, but the angels are there.

Dean is the Michael Sword. The true vessel of Michael.

Zachariah taunts Dean, plays on his empathy for humanity’s survival, digs his fingers into Dean’s weak points to make him consent to be the vessel. But Dean says no to Zachariah, so the angel points a finger to Sam and mimes shooting.

Sam could feel the power -the Grace- in an instant, pressing against his shins and pushing, snapping at the bones. But… nothing gives.

Sam is angry. Angry at Zachariah for what he was doing. Coercing consent _wasn’t consent_. It was a violation, one that Sam found himself disgusted and enraged by. It was renegade to the foundation of angelic principals. Without consent, they were as good as demons.

 _How dare he_.

The burn within Sam slithers down his legs, filling flesh and bone and batting away Zachariah's Grace like a human would an annoying nat.

The angel frowns at him and tries again, with the same results.

“What’s wrong, Feathers? Can’t get it up?” Dean snipps with a feral grin. “You know they have pills for tha-” He was cut off as Zachariah turned his Grace on him and brought him to his knees, coughing up globs of blood. He surged towards Sam, his hand gripped tightly around Sam’s neck, pinning him to the wall of the storage unit.

“What have you done, Sammy?” Zachariah spat, a strange, sickly glint in his eye. He then grinned, lightly patting his cheek with the hand that wasn’t choking him, like he was indulging a child. “An abomination like you,” he tutted, “your soul is so disgusting not even my Grace is willing touch it.”

And, well damn, if that didn’t hit an open wound and pour the salt in.

He squeezed out a few garbled words from his compressed larynx. But the words “go fuck yourself” didn’t need to be perfectly articulated to get the message across.

Before Asshole-With-Wings could say anything, there was a bright flash of light, and the hand disappeared from his throat. Sam blinked away the dark spots from his vision and looked down to see Dean holding his hand against the angel banishing symbol. The symbol which he, apparently, drew with the blood he had been coughing up.

Sam yanked Dean to his feet before hauling him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He booked it out of the storage locker, closing it up hastily behind him and vowing to come back to deal with the dead bodies.

He sat Dean down against the Impala and checked him over for what Zachariah had done. Dean grumbled and groaned, batting away Sam’s hands and muttering something along the line of ‘mother hen.’

He finds nothing, so he hauls Dean to the nearest ER and tells them that his brother just started coughing up blood. They take him back, and Sam stands in the hall, watching as the gurney pushes through the doors, taking Dean out of view.

A nurse ushers him into the waiting room and he stays there until a doctor comes and finds him.

“Mr Price? Brother to Dean Price?” the doctor asks and Sam nods. The doctor tells him that Dean’s got an Esophageal rupture and needs surgery pronto. He goes along, filling out the information needed, the (fake) social and card numbers, etc. Dean is rushed into surgery and Sam is left waiting for even longer. Anxiety turns in his stomach, burning in his chest and constricting around his lungs. His breath comes out in short, painful pants and he has a headache that would rival the day after his worst benders.

His body shudders and he tries to himself to calm down once again, that overwhelmed feeling creeping back into his gut.

He just wants Dean to be fixed, to be happy. He made the biggest blunder, he had chosen a demon over his own brother and freed the Devil from his cage. And his actions already had disastrous consequences. Cas was dead, Bobby was stabbed and Dean was lying in surgery, getting his fuckin throat stitched back together because some wigged dick decided to rip it open because Dean was being cheeky.

 _He wouldn’t have been there if Sam hadn’t released Lucifer_ …

God, what had he done? He just wanted to fix everything so bad; he wanted Dean to be fixed, he wanted Bobby healthy and whole again, he wanted Castiel back, he wanted _he wanted_ **_he wanted_ ** **-**

The doctor came back not long later, looking rumpled and more than a little disbelieving. They told him that Dean was fine, wrong diagnosis. Only a roughed up throat, they said.

So Dean was released with only some painkillers and throat lozenges, told to take it easy and let his throat heal up before he started yodeling or anything. Dean put on his best smile for the nurses and the two walked out of the building.

 

Later that night, doctors would be absolutely baffled when they found that all their patience in the ER and the rest of the hospital were miraculously healthy and healed of any and all ailments.

 

They got back to Bobby quickly, Dean gunning the gas and not saying a word. They got back just in time for the doc to give the verdict.

Bobby would walk again.

After a considerable amount of physical therapy and medication, of course. He would still be destined for the wheelchair for a few months until the damage was fixed.

Bobby stopped him as he was walking out, letting Sam know that it was the demon that cast him out, not Bobby himself. He would never abandon Sam. It soothed a small bit of the ache in Sam’s chest, and damn near brought him to tears. But he gave Bobby a thankful smile, even as his eyes grew a bit damp. Bobby gripped a bit more before booting them out of the room. The brothers headed to the impala.

“You know, I was thinking maybe we could go after the Colt.” Sam started, but Dean was quick to cut him back, his voice rough an hoarse, like sandpaper on a rusty surface. He told Sam that he was humoring Bobby, that he had little to no hope left even though he’d keep fighting.

The fact that Dean’s eyes were wet really hit him. He had made his brother cry. Even if the tears hadn’t fallen, they were still there.

The burn, the burn was back.

“What can I do?” he whispered, his throat tight and his chest aching.

“Honestly?” Dean replied, “nothing.”

The last nail in the coffin was when Dean told him that he didn’t trust him anymore.

And damn, if that didn’t hurt like a sonovabitch.

The words stabbed out and hit along the hairline fractures inside him, shattering and splintering him to pieces. He understood where Dean was coming from, he really did. Sam fucked up, majorly. He tossed his brother aside like trash and went out on his own like he could face down the world and come out on top.

_Reckless...Selfish... Arrogant..._

It whispered past his ears in Bobby’s voice, echoing the demon that had been in his body.

God he had fucked up.

He had hurt Dean, the one he had sought vengeance for, the one he had fought and defended. The first one he had thought about when that first bit of demon blood crossed his lips and the last one he thought about when he stood over Lilith’s empty shell. He’d do anything, give anything, for him. And he had _Let. Him. Down._

And in such a disastrous way.

Sam could feel the burn flare brighter as Dean walked away and got into the Impala without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy, another out.  
> this chapter is a bit faster pace than i normally write, i tend to draw the hell out of things so this was an interesting and challenging thing to do. I wanted to keep the feelings fresh and not ring it out like someone trying to get every drop out a wet towel.  
> tell me what you think!!


	3. All Encompassing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam feels the burn

 

It was three days after the shit show that cracked the Devil’s cage open; Sam and Dean stood in Bobby’s hospital room as the man rolled around in his wheelchair, grumbling loudly. His grouches consisting of copious amount of complaining, finely dusted with curses crass enough to make even the most hardened of sailors blush. 

Dean looked amused at the griping, giving Bobby a lopsided grin.

“No worries, man. Doc says you’ll be up and kicking ass in no time.” Dean said, prompting a glare from Bobby. 

“You’re not the one on their ass in a wheelchair after impersonating a pincushion, boy.” Bobby snapped, causing Dean to smile again, holding his hands up in surrender. 

After awhile of watching the endless entertainment that was Bobby, the boys stepped out of the room for a moment. The smile fell off Dean’s face as soon as they got out, his demeanor shifting into something a bit more cold. 

“He’s going to be ok, Dean.” Sam offered weakly. He’d been walking on eggshells around his brother since their talk in the parking lot, finding it difficult to say anything when Dean kept up his apathetic behavior towards him. Dean nods to him, not looking overly convinced. It was then that the boys heard Bobby yelling in his room. 

They barged in, guns drawn just as Bobby slapped his phone closed. 

“River Pass, Colorado.” 

The battle with War was, if Sam could admit, was a huge shit show. Almost as bad as that night in Ilchester. 

It had started when the two had walked into River Pass (the Impala left at the broken bridge leading into town), eyes peeled for anything. But there was nothing. And that had been the strange part. 

There was no people around: no kids playing in the park, pedestrians bustling from shops or from work, no animals. It was as if every living thing had vanished between Rufus’s call and their arrival. 

They had been eyeballing Rufus’s wrecked truck when Ellen snuck up on them and put them through their paces. Sam got a chuckle out of the bitch slap she gave Dean, but her scolding after damped it down real quick. 

Things went downhill from there. 

The civilians-turned-hunters, the town full demons, and Jo and Rufus were missing. Sam and Dean headed out for guns and salt, but not before a bit of verbal sparring in which Dean wants Sam to stay inside, away from the demons. He didn’t say it in those words, but Sam knew what he was implying, and fuck if it didn’t make him angry. More at himself than anything. 

Grabbing the salt and placing it quietly in the bag, Sam was lost in thought. 

This whole thing felt off. Sam had residual abilities from when he was hopped up on demon blood, and his demon radar was one of them. But he didn’t feel any demons around for miles. It was frustrating. 

His frustration became worse when two men - fuck, not even men, they were fucking  _ teenagers _ \- came into the store sporting demon eyes. 

Sam could feel a migraine coming on as his eyes recognized them as demons, but his gut screaming that all was not right and that the kids were as human as any. His stomach turned from nerves and he could feel that familiar burn in his chest. And suddenly he could feel it, like there was a film over his eyes, itchy and irritating. He longed to reach up and pull it away from his eyes. So he did. Fingers came up, the tips of them burning as he grabbed whatever was covering his eyes and ripping it away like the sticky spider webbing you see in movies. 

The illusion parted away and suddenly he could see clearly once more. The inky blackness melted away to show two pairs of apprehensive, fearful eyes that scanned the store cautiously. 

Sam ducked and kept quiet, his fingertips rubbing together as the teens walked further into the store. One of the two moved to the counter, his back facing the isle Sam was in. Without thinking much on it, Sam lunged, one arm coming into a choke hold, the other scraping at the space in front of the teen’s eyes with burning fingers. 

The boy yelled, trying to throw Sam off of him, but failing under Sam’s larger bulk and greater experience. 

Sam heard more yelling from behind him and the ‘ _ shink _ ’ of an unsheathed knife. 

Acting quick, the hunter yanked away whatever it was manipulating the kid’s vision before throwing him away just in time to catch the flailing arm of the other teen, who had come up behind him. 

The burn inched its way further into his hand, the heat flaring in his palm as he set his hand against the kid’s forehead and ripped the stuff off like seran wrap. He probably wasn’t as gentle as he should have been, because the kid fell to the floor with a yell, clutching his face. 

A whisper of cloth was his only warning before he was being barreling into, knocked into, and over, one of the shelves, causing the whole thing to topple over. The first kid was swinging like crazy with the knife, his movements frantic and untrained. 

“Wait! Wait stop! Im not a demon!” Sam yelled, batting off the kid’s piss-poor knife jabs. He got the kid into another headlock, holding him down as he chanted over and over that he wasn’t possessed. 

“You were under some sort of spell that made you see demons! I took it off!” he yelled, the kids struggles slowing down as his words seemed to come to him.

“Bullshit!” the youth yelled, “Let go of me you black-eyes son of a bitch!” 

It takes a good few minutes to get him to calm down enough to talk some sense into, along with his friend that had been laying on the floor cradling his head. 

“So the whole town wasn’t possessed? We were just hallucinating?” The first kid, Derek said, his face ashen as he realized all the implications of that. Todd, the second kid, looks ready to throw up. 

“How can you tell?” Todd asks, looking lost. 

“Ive been around the supernatural long enough to know when something aint right.” Sam explained from where he was kneeling in front of the two. 

“An the” Derek makes a vague, flapping motion around his eyes, “How’d you do that?” 

“As i’ve said, ive been around.” Sam lied. But how was he supposed to tell them that he had no clue himself? He had just felt it, then  _ pulled _ . 

The kids were quiet for a moment. 

“What now?” Todd asked quietly, both of them looking at Sam like he had all the answers for everything. 

“Now, i need to get the spell off of everyone and see what cast it.” Sam replied, his voice strong. He needed to be sure, certain, to reassure these boys nothing bad would happen under his watch. 

Before anything could be further said, the door chimed again.

The teens tensed up, looking at Sam with panic. He placed a finger over his mouth, shushing them, before adjusting where he was kneeling so he could look into the corner mirror. 

A Familiar figure walked in and called out “Sammy!” causing Sam to relax.

“Dean,” he stood, moving over to his brother. 

But he was greeted with the butt of a shotgun to the face. 

Sam could feel his nose crack under the hard material. Stumbling back, Sam gripped his nose, yelling at Dean for being a dick. The resulting fight was difficult, Dean yelling about demons and Sam quickly put together than his brother thought he was possessed. Sam yelled at the teens to stay away as he fought his brother, not wanting the two to get caught between two seasoned hunters. 

“Dean! I'm not possessed! The town is under a curse!” Sam yelled as he parried a punch from Dean. He continued to yell out the inconsistencies: how salt and holy water didn’t work on the demons, how exorcisms didn't work. Both were huffing by the end, parted far enough not to be able to touch one another. Both sported new shiners, Sam had a busted lip and a new set of aches in his body, Dean was less bruised but huffing harder and looking at Sam like he couldn’t decide between hearing him out or going in for another few swings. Sam gave his brother a morose look before admitting the last fact:

“I can’t  _ feel _ any demons, Dean.” he said quietly, both prepared and not for Dean’s sharp look. After a few tense moments of stand off, Dean relaxed his stance and nodded. 

“What do you think it is? Witch?” he asked to which Sam shook his head. 

“No it doesn’t feel like it.” he edged towards Dean, reaching out slowly towards his face with tingling fingers. Dean was giving him a hard stare as he did this, glaring right into his eyes as if to challenge him to try something. 

Sam’s fingers met with the filmy substance over Dean’s eyes and gently pried it away causing Dean to blink several times. His brother rubbed at his eyes with one hand before looking around again, his stance relaxing further now that he wasn’t seeing demons at every turn. 

After Sam explained what went on in the store, the kids Todd and Derek, the four hightailed it out of the shop and back to base. It was only halfway there that one of the kids, Derek, spoke up. 

“Wait, if we don’t have the spell on us anymore, and the spell caused this dude to see you as a demon without it, how are your people going to see the four of us?” 

Shit, that was a good point.

Dean and Sam traded glances before the elder indicated his head towards an abandoned house. The four traveled inside, the kids going to raid the kitchen to find anything useful as Dean and Sam talked. 

“You’re demon powers are still there? I thought the fight with Lilith cleaned you out?” there was an accusatory tone to Dean’s question and a hard look in his eye. 

Sam sighed, “I can’t do what I could before, Dean. There is no mind i can just feel when demons are around.” 

If anything, Dean’s look got harsher and Sam could practically see what he was thinking. 

“I haven't drank any demon blood, Dean! After everything, I learned my lesson.” 

“Have you?” Dean bit out. Sam felt anger and sadness well up in his chest, burning through his body. 

“If you actually think that i-!” Sam’s voice cut off as he ground it teeth together to keep the traitorous waver in his voice from slipping out. He shoved at Dean, barreling past him quickly before he did something he would regret. 

He was angry, so angry that Dean thought he’d go down that road again, that he’d think he'd fall that far. A nagging voice in the back of Sam’s head whispered that Dean was valid in his concerns, that he had fallen and chosen evil over him before. Sam banished the thoughts as he stormed from the house and down the road. 

He kicked a few rocks across the sidewalk, unsatisfied with the small act of violence. He wanted to punch something, to fight until he was breathless and his body ached as much as his heart did. 

He was quite content to stew in his dark, sorrowful thoughts by himself, thank-you-very-much. But the world didn’t give breaks for sulking and Sam quickly found himself surrounded by people holding shotguns at him. Sam was quick to remember that he had left his shotgun at the house and only had a few knifes on him as weapons. Not that he wanted to hurt these people, but he’d feel much better having something with a bit more range than his knifes. Sam raised his hands up in surrender as the group closed in. He recognized two of the people as Rufus and Jo and tried to call out to them. But anything he would have said was quickly cut off by the butt of a gun knocking into the back of his head and knocking him out cold. 

 

Sam woke up in a dark room. It was warm and he could hear the crackle of fire off to his left. He could also feel the hard wood of the chair under him, and the tightness of the bindings around his wrists and across his chest. He tested the bindings, pulling at them to find they were well tied and held him down firmly in place. 

He looked up blearily at the room, his eyes squinting as dark spots danced along his vision. He had a killer headache, and Sam could thank the small mercy of the room being dark enough not to hurt. 

He spotted Jo and Rufus immediately, standing outside of what appeared to be a devil’s trap that he was in. Both of their eyes were clear and looking at him in contempt. He had to quickly remind himself that they saw a demon looking out, not Sam. 

“Jo, Rufus, you got to listen-” his words were cut off with a firm backhand from Rufus.

“Shut up, you evil son of a bitch.” Rufus growled out in his low-timber voice, which reminded Sam of the Impala starting up. Jo threw water on him, coating his face and chest.

It was… nice. The water brought with it a pleasant hum under his skin. It dripped down his face and soaked his hair, carrying away the aches in his head and eyes. He swallowed the bit of water than had gotten into his mouth reflexively, eyes fluttering as the burn that had been ever presence in his chest seemed soothed, jagged edges of pain rolling away with every drop of water. He let out a low sigh as the burn dimmed down to a pleasant warmth. 

Sam opened his eyes to the two hunter’s confused faces. 

“What was that?” he asked, but he already had a feeling. The hunters didn’t respond, just moving forward as one, Rufus pulling out salt and pouring it over his face and into his mouth as Jo held his head back. He tried to talk to them, but between spitting out salt and keeping his eyes closed so none would get in them, it wasn’t going well. 

He managed to spit out only ‘cursed’ and ‘spell’ before they stopped, gagging on half dissolved salt. Jo splashed him once more before the two relented and pulled away. Sam lept on the chance. 

“Rufus, jo, listen! The town’s been cursed, there is no demons! Just a spell making us see them.” He rushed out, pulling at the binding in earnest. The two pulled away, whispering furiously to one another for a moment before moving back. 

“How can we trust you, demon? You expect us to believe your lies?” Jo demand, gripping the jug of holy water like her life depended on it. 

“The salt and the holy water aren't working because I’m not a demon,” Sam argued, “we were able to pull the spell off me and Dean and two other kids, Todd and Derek.” The names had the two hunters glancing at one another. “But now it makes us appear like demons to others.” 

They looked like they were coming around, but Sam knew he’d need that little extra push, so he started reciting an exorcism. 

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas-” he recited it, all the way to the end. By the last word, Jo and Rufus looked convinced, but still wary. 

“How’d you get the spell off?” Rufus asked. 

“I’m not sure on the specifics, but i was able to pull it off. It’s centered around the eyes. Feel for it, it should feel like webbing or a film.” The two patted around their face, their eyebrows furrowing as they felt nothing. “Unbind me, i can take it off.”

That was the wrong thing to say, as both hunters were right back on the defensive and Sam wanted to groan in dismay. 

“I just proved i wasn’t a demon, guys, Im Sam Winchester. Look under my shirt, my anti-possession tattoo is still in place, no break in the sigil. I recited the exorcism and I’m immune to salt and holy water. Come on guys.” He pleaded. Rufus gave Jo a long look and went and grabbed the shotgun that was close by, causing Sam to stiffen. Jo pulled out a knife, walking forward slowly. 

Jo cut through his bindings as Rufus stood at the ready, shotgun pointed at Sam’s head. 

Sam stood, splaying his fingers outwards, showing no ill intent. He waited a second before moving one hand forward slowly. He stilled for only a moment as Rufus pumped his shotgun, ready to unload it in Sam’s head if he so much as twitched wrong. 

The warmth in Sam’s chest was slowly coming back to a burn, the ache creeping down his arm and into his hand as he focused all he could on what he  _ knew  _ was there. His fingers tingled as they connected to something right in front of Jo’s eyes, the filmy substance he had felt a handful of times before. 

He gently pulled back, focusing on the feel of the spell under is fingers, the sounds, the smells and tastes of it in the air. It was gross, slimy against him now that he was focusing on it. He could feel it everywhere and in everyone. Like inky sap that surrounded everything. It tasted like rotten apples and the irony taste of blood, it smelled worse. 

He pulled it, not only away from Jo’s eyes, but out of her completely, like pulling a wraith from a body and casting it aside. The burn hummed pleasantly in his chest as some of the wrongness in the room faded. 

Jo blinked, one hand coming up to rub at her eyes. 

“Holy shit.” She said breathlessly, looking stricken. She looked over to Rufus, who had frozen. He stared at the both of them and Sam kept his hands raised. The older hunter’s eyes were wide and he looked ready to blow them both away now. 

“Remember Rufus, the spell is no longer on her, so it’s going to make you see her as a demon.” He could feel the burn traveling up his chest and into his neck, like lava moving through his veins, up into his throat and coating his tongue as he spoke. 

“ _ Let me help _ ,” he said softly. He could feel the burn in his mouth, covering and merging with his words as they escaped, resonating in a way it never did before. But it seemed to work. Rufus lowered his gun, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. 

Sam repeated his actions with Rufus, slow and steady pulling the spell away from his eyes and out of his body. 

The older hunter slumped in relief when it was done. 

“Holy shit..” his words echoing Jo’s. They were all quiet for a moment, processing what just happened. 

“What’s the plan?” Sam looked up from where he had been staring at the sigils written on the floor. It was Rufus that had spoken, looking to Sam for the next move. Sam was slightly humbled and flattered that a seasoned hunter like Rufus would look to him, even with their many years difference in age. 

“We need to get more people free of the spell if we can, then we need to find the source. Between the three of us, we should be able to get the rest of the people here uncursed.” 

“How’d you do it?” Jo spoke up, “How’d you break the spell.” Sam quieted and shrugged his broad shoulders. 

“I don’t really know. I just did.”

“Did it have something to do with those psychic powers that yellow-eyed demon gave you?” Rufus spoke up and Sam flinched.

“I didn’t know you knew about that.” he mumbled. 

“Ain't hard to piece together the facts after everything.” the older hunter rumbled, crossing his arms. Sam gave him a searching look from the corner of his eye, wary. Rufus waved his hand, “Ain't matter to me where you got it, boy, you’re using it for good now. To help people, that’s all that matters to me.” Sam felt himself relax a bit as Jo echoed the sentiments after her initial look of surprise at Rufus’s first words. Ellen hadn’t told her of what was revealed at the Devil’s gate apparently, so his psychic powers were news to her. 

The three crept out of the room and searched the house, getting into a few scrapes with others as Sam pulled the spell off them. Their little group of three turned into four, then five and six. Seven stood with Sam in the end, not including himself. They all looked to him for guidance, and Sam couldn’t help feeling pleased that they followed him, how right it felt. He was so used to following people: his dad, his brother, and even Bobby. It was surprising how well he slotted into the leadership role, even with the hunters at his back. 

The group scoured the town, picking up a few stranglers here and there that were hidden in homes or sheds. Sam could feel them, the burn in his chest guiding him towards each like an advanced game of Hot n’ Cold. Seven turned to fifteen before Sam was ready to head back to the house Dean had hid in with the kids. 

When he got there, he found the kids, but no Dean. 

“Shit, where did he go?” Sam asked Todd. 

“He said he wanted to check on the base, where someone named Ellen was at.” the kid explained. Sam ran a hand over his face, watching as the kids reunited with the people who had been in their initial group, one of them being Derek’s father. 

They all looked to Sam when the reunion was finished, waiting for his orders. 

Confidence filled Sam’s chest, the burn humming pleasantly as he laid out the plan to the others for when they approached the base. 

“Incapacitate only, do not shoot to kill. And only shoot if they become aggressive.” His voice was resonating again, the warmth coating his tongue like fine brandy, exhaling and hanging in the air like a hot breath in snowy weather. 

The group moved, heading out into the street and towards the church that the others were in. They made it just in time to see two figures rush out, gunfire ripping out behind them. Sam dashed forwards, signaling the group behind him to stay put. He grabbed both by the back of their shirts as they stumbled to the ground in their scramble to avoid the hail fire. Sam hauled the two away from the rain of bullets in an impressive feat of strength, lifting both off their feet as he ducked behind an overturned car. 

“Sam?!” oh, shit, one of the people Sam had grabbed was Dean. Sam looked over his brother, looking for injuries of any kind. Dean had a scrape along his temple and rope burns on his wrists, but other than that he was good. Ellen, the other person he had snatched out of the way, was a little worse for ware, with a bullet hole in the back of her thigh. Without really thinking about it, Sam reached out with burning fingers, one over her eyes, the other over her leg. 

He pulled out the spell, all the wrongness in her body slipping out and fading away. 

Once done, he pulled away, looking down at Ellen as she looked up at him, a look of awe (and reverence?) on her face.

“Sam..” she breathed out like a prayer.

“I got you, Ellen.” 

Before anything further could be said, the door to the church burst open, and people spilled out. They carried shotguns and rifles and were looking to make a mad dash for it, and take down as many ‘demons’ with them as possible. It was only a second before the new group spotted Sam’s group. 

“GET DOWN!” Sam yelled back to them as bullets rocketed from the church group. His group scattered, some falling down and army crawling away, some diving behind cars or over hedges. But one- no, two,- two fell dead on the ground. One was Derek’s father, whom the teen clung to even as more bullets came and blood soaked the kid’s shirt in frighteningly familiar shapes, in areas not even close to where his father’s blood sprayed.

“Derek! Derek run!” Sam shouted, but the kid didn’t move. Sam abandoned his spot near his brother and Ellen and ran over, narrowly dodging bullets aimed his way. He threw himself over the kid and his father, feeling as the burn sparked into an inferno in his chest, arching down his spine and over his legs, through his arms and fingers. He could feel it in his head, behind his eyes as he looked down at the two he shielded. 

The teen looked up at him with wide, shocked eyes, like Sam had just turned the world upside down on him. Sam looked back, a strange sense of calm rage settling over his body. He placed a hand over both of them and  _ reached _ . The inferno inside of him blooming out; it was burning away the gross, slimy feeling, and casting out the aches he knew shouldn’t be there. It pulled at the pleasant warmths he could feel, cradling and cultivating them until they reached back to him and  _ grew and  _ **_grew_ ** .

Seconds, minutes, hours, days.. Time seemed suspended in that moment as Sam held the warmths that weren't his against the burning inside of him. He felt like the sun to the trees, the water to the fish, the grass to the grazers, and the breeze to the birds. The burn within him gave and gave, and the warmths around him continued to grow. 

It felt like it was all too soon and way too long before Sam blinked and realized, he was no longer where he once was, kneeling on the pavement covered in blood. 

He was kneeling in the grass, gunfire was absent, but there was shocked breathing around him. More than one. 

Sam looked up and saw that not only was he in a different place, both groups, including Dean and Ellen, were there keeling in the grass, too. And everyone was looking at him. Including the -previously assumed- dead people. 

The warmth was still behind his eyes as he looked down at Derek’s father. 

“ _ Are you ok? _ ” he asked, the resonance deep in his voice. The father nodded slowly, his eyes wide and never leaving Sam. Sam nodded back before releasing both of them.

He looked around, noticing how changed everything looked. 

Trees grew high into the sky, grass and flowers grew lush along the ground, and he could hear the faint buzzings of insects. But what was strange was there was buildings. The same buildings as before, but they were overgrown with wildlife. Ivy clung to boards, trees grew from wrecked living rooms, and flowers bloomed along broken apart cement. It looked like those soft post-apocalypse movies, where nature overtakes man made structures. 

He looked back to the people, all of them still kneeling and staring at him, looking at him in awe. 

All but one. 

Dean looked at him with horror, with rage and despair flooding his eyes. Like Sam had just taken everything in the world dear to him and crush it under foot. 

Sam didn’t understand. 

That inky, slimy feeling came back, or at least, he took notice of what was there already. He looked down at his fist where the feeling came from and opened his fingers, revealing a golden ring. 

  
  


The hour was a blur then. The fire burn inside of him dulled back into a manageable burn and he was able to concentrate. He moved around the groups, making sure the spell was gone and that everyone was ok. 

Ellen was healed, the once dead people were on their feet, feeling better than ever. It was a miracle, a miracle that Sam couldn’t wrap his head around. He felt like he was overly obtuse, that what he failed to understand was dangling right in front of his face and he was blind to see it. 

It all came together when, after all the others had moved on to find shelter for the night, he made his way to his brother. His brother who took a step back from him as he got close. 

Sam paused in front of him, hands outstretched to his side. 

“Dean-” 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Dean spat out, venom coating his teeth as he glared hatefully at Sam. “Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” Sam was hurt, Dean’s glare ripping into his body better than any knife. 

“I don’t understand-”

“Don’t pull that bullshit on me, you evil sonovabitch.” Dean looked ready to both ready to flee and ready to fight in that instance. “I don't know when he said yes or why. Maybe you tricked him or some shit, but i swear to you, i'll find a way to push you out of my brother’s body or die trying.” 

Sam was very confused now. 

“What?”

“Don’t bullshit me, you feathered dick. Get out of Sam.”

“Dean, i am Sam.”

“Don’t fuck with me, i saw your eyes light up, i saw you heal those people and make the plants and shit grow. Don't try to lie.” 

“Dean-”

“I just don’t know why. Why you, of all angels, would heal them. Why go on with this charade when you should be happy with their deaths? But i don't care right now, i just want you out of him.” Dean spat. Sam paused. Dean thought he was an angel, and by how he spoke, he had a specific one in mind. Sam thought hard, thinking back to all the things Dean was pointing out: The healings, the plants… the eyes?

It was like a dam ripping apart and the threads connected into one giant web. The burn, the feelings in his body and the new senses he had. 

It was  _ Grace _ . 

But whos? And why did he have it? He had a thought, a nagging feeling in the back of head that whispered the name he never wanted to hear. 

Breathless, he spoke to Dean, not wanting to hear what he’d say but needing the confirmation. 

“ _ Who am I then? _ ”

 

“ **_Lucifer._ ** ”

 

But no, that didn’t feel right. 

“No, Dean, i'm not Lucifer, why would you think that?”

“DON'T LIE!” Dean roared, his fists balling up. “I know about you and him, i know he’s your true vessel! Dont lie to me and tell me you weren’t aching to wear him as a meat suit to the big boss fight. I should have seen it earlier,” he ran a hand frantically through his hair, his green eyes wild, “I knew something was up ever since we got out of that church. Where you the one who pulled me out and on to that plane?”

“No!” the nagging feeling, “I mean- I don't know!” Sam threw up his hands, his mind racing as he panicked under the wave of new information. “Dean i'm not Lucifer!” he shouted, but Dean wasn’t listening anymore, backing away from Sam quickly as he glared right at him with hatred. 

“I’ll find a way to boot you out, just you see. I'll find a way. Then, i swear to God, I’ll kill you.” Dean promised before dashing away, presumably to where he’d stashed the Impala. 

Sam felt like his world was crashing down around him, the truckload of things piled on from what Dean had said. 

Lucifer’s true vessel? Like Dean was Michael's? Did that mean he was destined to be the devil? To bring hell fire and torment for all? Was there no preventing what had happened? Was he always meant to open the cage and free the Devil?

Sam could feel himself hyperventilating, his knees shaking and giving out. But he was helpless to stop it. Questions and ‘what ifs’ raced too fast through his brain, the burning in his chest coming from shortness of breath and anxiety rather than  _ Grace _ -

_ Grace _ . 

How did he get Grace? When?

He thought back to the church, the feeling of warmth filling him to the brim and washing away everything but the heat inside. 

Did he have Lucifer’s Grace within him? Was he who his brother claimed him to be? Would Dean hate him forever? Would he try to kill him? Hunt him like the monster his father always claimed him to be? 

He was still panicking, kneeling on the ground when arms wrapped around him and hugged him close. The smell of flowery perfume and polished wood filling his nose as a soft voice soothed over him, fingers carting through his hair and helping him calm down from his panic. 

“Ellen.” he whispered. 

“Im here, baby, i got you.” her country drawl washed over his ears as she kept talking to him, walking him back to the present. After awhile, Sam pulled back, wiping at his face. Embarrassment trickled in and he tried to duck his head. 

“None of that now,” Ellen said, grabbing his chin and making him look up at her. “Now, i don’t know what’s goin’ on but i know you’ll find a way through it. You and your brother are the most stubborn bastards i know.” 

“I don’t know how to get past this Ellen.” Sam whispered, “Dean thinks im a monster, he-” his words were cut off as Ellen swatted him on the back of the head. 

“No he don’t. Your brother might have his head stuck far up his ass sometimes but never doubt that he loves you. You’ll make it through this.” 

Sam felt himself calming at her words, relaxing previously tense muscles. He was quiet for a moment, thinking. 

“What should i do now? Dean won’t let me come near him without shooting.” he asked. It was Ellen’s turn to delve into thoughtful silence. 

“Well,” she began, “I think you should find yourself, before you go findin’ your brother. It looks like whatever this is,” she waved over him,” is somethin’ new that you need to figure out. Go out, figure it out. Then go home. Dean will be waiting” 

Sam looked over Ellen with no small amount of wonder. 

“You’re right.” He said slowly, pieces of a plan fitting together in his mind. He leaned back, out of Ellen’s embrace and stood, helping her to her feet. 

He looked around at the foliage that he, apparently, created. 

He bid Ellen goodbye, passing along one for Jo and Rufus, too. He then headed out, jogging down the road, back to where he knew the Impala had previously been parked. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t there when he got there. But a small bag was. Seems his brother couldn't stand leaving him with nothing, even when he thought an angel was hitching a ride. Inside was a few changes of clothes, one set of fake credentials and a wad of money. All of his more personal items were gone, no doubt safely in his other bag in the back of the impala. 

He picked the bag up and slung it over his shoulder. His knives were in place and a handgun was hidden in his belt. He had a golden ring in his fist and a long, paved road ahead of him. Sam heaved a large breath before steeling himself…

...and started walking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lets just all assume that any inconsistencies in this story compared to the show when it comes to info is due to it being an AU to the OG universe that was destroyed. 
> 
> Also, some might wonder why Dean-o aint getting his powers right now. He will, just later on.


	4. Road to Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Sam Seeks Revelation

 

Hitchhiking was always a hit or miss sort of game. The person who picked you up could be anyone. Or anything. 

The person that happened to pick Sam up was human, thankfully. A kindly old man in a beat up Honda civic who smelled like handmade soap and cigarette ash. There was a “Jesus loves me” bumper sticker on the back and a rosary hanging from the rearview mirror. 

Sam wondered what the man would have done, had he known just who he was letting in his car, and admitted the risk of hitchhiking went both ways. Never knew what monster you could pick up.

The burn still hummed under his skin, pulsing in the space between his ears. And the information, the new senses that the burn brought, it was overwhelming. Sam had some experience with senses outside the normal 5 when he was full of demon blood, but this was something else. It was  _ too much.  _

Information about everything and everyone flowed into his head like a stream of water, and he had to fight against the flow. It was like stuffing a burst pipe with a spare shirt: difficult and only partially effective. Things still leaked in.

Like how Sam didn’t know the man’s last name or age, but he knew about the stage three lung cancer and he grew up in Pennsylvania. 

The man, Elliot Cage, spoke animatedly about his grandchildren, and how he had one ‘about your age’. Which, apparently, was the reason Elliot had stopped. Couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him there, in the middle of nowhere. 

“What if it had been my grandson, standin’ there in the cold? I’d want someone to help him.” was what Elliot said when he’d asked. Sam didn’t argue or reprimand the man, too grateful to be off his feet for a bit after walking all day. 

Elliot had dropped him off at the bus station in town, handing over twenty and a few dollar bills to a flustered Sam, who was trying to refuse the offering. 

“Take it for the bus, son, it’d make this ol’ man feel mighty better if you did.” Elliot had urged, practically shoving the bills in his hands with a surprising amount of force for a man well into his 70s. Sam had taken them with a grateful smile, both humbled and uncomfortable with the man’s generosity. He wished he could do something in return, but he had nothing on him he could offer. 

The idea flitted into his head quickly, and before he could talk himself out of it, Sam laid a hand on Elliot’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Elliot, may you live a long and happy life. You deserve it.” Sam said earnestly, focusing inwards towards the burn, calling it forward and into his hand. 

It wasn’t too different than when he was on demon blood, if anything, calling it forward was easier. The powers leaping to do his bidding.

Elliot smiled to Sam as he concentrated, pooling the heat into his fingertips and sinking it into the older man.

“I’ve lived a good life, happy as it should. I got to see my grandkids grow up and graduate, and who knows? Maybe i’ll still be around when they like lil’ ones runnin’ around.” Elliot said, patting Sam’s hand with his own, the sun-spotted, wrinkled hand contrasting Sam’s youthful one greatly. There was a soft sadness to the older man, the words said almost in comfort to himself than an explanation to Sam. 

Sam realized that Elliot must know of the cancer, and expected his odds of surviving to be null. 

“You will,” Sam said, certainty in his voice. He pulled his hand away, taking the heat with it. Elliot gave him a smile as Sam slid from the car. Waving off the older man, he walked over to the ticket station and got a one way trip to the farthest town he could. 

 

Not a few weeks later, doctors would be baffled as 76 year old Elliot Cage was completely cancer free, no sign of cell mutation within him. Elliot would reverently claim whilst clutching and kissing his rosary, that the Lord sent an angel to test him, and when had passed, had healed him. His children and grandchildren would give thanks to this angel in their prayers for years to come. Elliot would give thanks until the day he died, at the ripe old age of 102, surrounded by family, from his children to his great great grandchildren there in the end. 

 

Back in the present, just a few days after Sam had taken a bus to Norman, Oklahoma. It wasn’t as reclusive of a town Sam would normally prefer, but it's where he decided to start his journey. And it was here he found out some startling new things about the warmth within him. 

It was while he was out, diving at some seedy bars and looking for quick cash to pay for a night at a hotel. Hustling pool and cards was easier than ever. He’d let the warmth trickle in, directed to certain players. He was expecting to just…  _ know _ what they had. Like how he knew of Elliot’s cancer, or the ticket master’s son’s graduate degree in physics, or even the bartenders middle name was Juliet. Random things at random times. 

Sam was certain that, if he got ahold of his newer abilities, he could direct them to specific pieces of information. 

Where better to practice than a seedy bar on the outskirts of town? 

So it was as he was sitting at a poker table, peeking at his cards, that Sam fucked up. 

 

Sam had been wearing his best poker face, cards in hand as he observed the players around him. All men, four older, two around his age. Two of the older men couldn’t hold a straight face if they were paralyzed, and one of the younger’s faces was so smug Sam was certain it was stuck that way. The rest of the players were decent enough. But only one of the older men showed a decent threat. 

Sam had grasped the warmth within him and pushed it through his eyes, willing himself to see the cards, to know their placements in each of the hands. He didn’t expect to  _ see _ . 

It was like a full out of body experience, like in the medical movies where the person is floating above their comatose body. But Sam was aware of both, could move his body and his… spirit self? Projection? Astral form? 

It was the strangest feeling, being aware of two things like that at once. But it was a shared consciousness, one mind in  two bodies. Like he hand spontaneously grown five extra limbs. And with the five extra limbs came the sensations: sight, sound, hearing, taste and touch. But the taste and touch were far more muted than the other three. Sam chalked this up to the second him(?) being intangible. The other patrons sure didn't seem to see him. 

Sam tested the waters, moving around his second self as he also paid attention to himself and the game. He moved around the table, glancing at the cards in each person's hands as he went. The smug younger one had a decent hand, and so did a few of the others. But the challenging older one (who Sam suddenly knew as Thomas Jones) had a royal flush and would stamp the shit out of every other hand. 

Sam folded for the round and kept his money. The others that bet in were soundly thrashed by Jones. 

The game went on. Sam #2 kept an eye on Jones’ cards. Sam made sure to lose as much as he won, to keep suspicion off him. It wasn't until the last round that things went sideways. 

Sam #2 was standing behind Jones, giving sam double vision to his cards when one of the onlookers stepped up. 

And  _ into  _ Sam #2. 

And suddenly Sam was him. 

 

James McClellan was a 30 year old man with a drab job at the local dentist office. He hated it there, but what he hated more was going home to his awful wife and his awful kids. He was certain they weren't even his, if catching his whore wife in bed with the neighbor was anything to go by. They didn't have his eyes or his hair. Not like him, they looked like that fucker Todd from next door. It filled him with so much anger, so much hatred. Tonight, he was going to do it. Tonight he would  _ kill them, all them, make kids-watch-go-first-knife-fist- _

 

Sam flung himself out of the man, the chaotic thoughts that were jumbled around and squishing together, mixed with hatred, glee and  _ excitement _ . 

God, the man was aroused at the thought of killing his kids, in front of his wife and neighbor before killing them. He was positively brimming with it. Hard in his pants, shaking in his shoes at the plans and ideas in his head.

Sam felt sick to his stomach, revulsion for what he just experienced and saw. The warmth began to burn again, pushing against the inside of his body outward, trying to escape. And Sam let it.   

 

It was like a dream, one he could only faintly remember when he woke up in the hospital two days later, news that the bar he had been in had leveled to the ground with only one casualty.

 

 That moment he let the burn through his skin. He had moved outwards, his consciousness expanding to such a vast size that Sam had to force himself not to focus on it. He moved his Will with purpose, towards the man. The soul within him flickered, a weak light with darkness that wriggled within it like parasites. 

The soul was removed from the man's body with a thought from Him, His Will grabbing the tainted soul unhappily, like someone pinching a dirty sock between two fingertips. He rose up, his being moving upwards and outwards as he looked around for a solution. 

Burning, screaming below; Sam looked into the darkness and saw Hell. For that is what it surely was; it stank of sulfur and rang with the chorus of tortured souls. 

Sam threw the soul into the pit where it let out a shriek as demons rose up, sinking their claws and teeth into it, dragging it down into the deep. 

Sam hovered there, feeling everything around him. Now that he had done his initial goal, his focus wavered and things began to slip in. The trickle slowly turning up into a roaring flood of information that ripped into him, knocking him off kitler. 

Sam lost his grasp on something he didn’t even know he had been holding and that was when the earth itself shook where his body laid. His consciousness bloomed out further than before, brushing against the layers of Creation before stopping against one. It was bright and full of love, pure and unconditional love. 

He could feel others there, singing in shock and excitement as he reached into the light layer, brushing over something he would swear were feathers. Emotions trickled up fingertips, hope and love scorching through him, directed  _ at _ him. So much of it, it was overwhelming. It was frightening. 

Sam yanked himself away, self-loathing winning out in the face of such impossible love. He didn’t deserve it, it wasn’t for him. 

So he pulled himself back, far back, back to his body. The thing that had bloomed within him withered and shriveled up, sinking back within his being as his whole self shrunk back, folding in and over itself in impossible ways until he slammed back into his body at full velocity. 

And everything went dark. 

 

Sam woke in the hospital, those two days later. He was groggy and disoriented, his skin felt too tight and his head pounded like a thousand drums. He burned through the pain medicine faster than the nurses could administer it.

 He could barely think of what had happened, every time he did it was like his hold slipped on something within him and caused the furniture around him to shake and the lights to flicker. The heat would burn behind his eyes and down his arms, scorching the blankets and sheets. 

Sam was let out after a few days, the police still lingering around too much, their eyes trained on his every movement. They believed he started the fire, and while they weren't wrong, they were not correct either. But with no proof and a whole bar full of witnesses willing to talk about the intense poker game he was in, they were forced to let up. 

He booked it out of town shortly after and ended up only about an hour away, in Garber, Oklahoma. Far enough to be out of that police district, but close enough to monitor the situation. Sam was still freaked out over what had happened, and he wanted to keep an eye on the bar’s location and who showed up after. Maybe some things would fall into place after, and he could understand just what was going on with him. 

The heat, the  _ Grace _ within him. It was strong, and Sam didn’t know why he had gotten it, and he didn't know how to control it. 

It was very different than his demonic powers, in feeling and strength. It was so much  _ more _ . Sam had to struggle to rein it in, the smallest of thoughts sending the burn out and changing  _ something _ . 

The walls of his hotel room going from and ugly yellow to a soft coral pink, holes in his cloths mended instantly, things disappearing when he was done with them, only to reappear as soon as he needed it again. It was alarming and Sam decided staying in his room was the best course of action. It would not bode well to have another outburst. Maybe he'd level the town next time he crossed someone with less than stellar intentions. 

Sam was glad he stayed in instead of going out, or else he would have been at ground zero for the  _ horde _ of angels that came down to the bar's location. Hundreds of them, all in vessels, standing around the burnt remains of the building. The news broadcasted it, selling it as some sort of protest or homage gathering, but Sam, who had been watching, knew who and what they were as soon as he laid eyes on them. 

Sam panicked as he connected a few dots together, what he had felt during his outburst, the  _ feathers _ ... it was an angel he had touched.

Sam fled the state before the horde got lucky and spotted him. 

He carved his way through central America, heading west to Oregon, hoping to disappear in the woods somewhere. 

He ran into trouble, of course. Demons spotted him in some little town and tailed him to the next. The resulting confrontation was enlightening and catastrophic at the same time.

“Sam Winchester,” one black-eyes asshole hissed, “we've been looking for you.” 

Shit. 

He barely had a moment to move away and the demons were on him, dozens of them sneering and grinning with glee as they no doubt thought of the praise they would receive for bringing him in. He was the one who killed Lilith and dozens of other demons with his mind, the boy with the demon blood, and Lucifer's vessel. He didn't doubt that whoever brought him in would be sitting pretty for the rest of their existence. In Hell at least. Maybe with a nice pat on the back from the pro-apocalypse angels. 

So he fought hard, like the hounds of Hell were nipping at his heels as he did. Which they were, literally. 

It was when he was decking some chump demon in the face that it happened. 

He threw the punch, same as always. But this time, the warmth surged up his arm and pulsed through his hand. 

Next thing he knew, the demon was crumpled to the ground dead 15 feet away, a smoking, melted mess where his face once was. Sam, and the other demons, stared for a hot second. Then everything burst back into action, some demons running at him and some away from him. Sam knew he couldn’t let word of whatever was going on with him hit Hell, he had to keep this contained until he could figure it out himself. 

Sam let the burn course through his body, the ground shaking under his feet as it traveled from where it was nestled in his chest to his feet and spreading up to his head, heating the space behind his eyes. 

He threw himself at the demons, throwing hits left and right, sending them through walls and -at one memorable point- through the  _ actual fucking ceiling _ . 

When he got close enough to some of the demons he could see a bright glow of light reflecting off their skin and he knew the source of the light was from his own eyes. Which was freaky, because he could see fine, better than fine. Everything was: his sight, hearing, smell, etc. It was like he filled up his senses to one hundred on the one to ten scale. 

But he filed that information away for later unpacking, focusing on the demons. 

He killed six more before the others started making a break for it. Sam knew he couldn't let any escape, so he let the burn shine through his skin, keeping a careful lock on it so there wouldn't be a repeat of the bar incident. 

Reaching out with his Grace, Sam grabbed hold of the fleeing demons and crushed them within his metaphysical fists. It was easy, like crushing grapes in his hands, and it floored Sam how weak these beings were to him now. Creatures he had once struggled desperately to fight against, lay wasted at his feet with just a thought. It spooked him, reminding him of his time addicted to demon blood. 

Sam left quickly, his mind in a tizzy from his racing thoughts. 

 

God, everything was so messed up. 

 

Four days later, Sam was in Oregon, walking along a dirt back road as it drizzled around him. He didn't feel cold, even though the temperature had dropped dramatically. The Grace under his skin kept him from feeling the cold. 

Sam took stock at he walked for hours alone. 

His powers, the Grace, the burn beneath his skin. What could he do with it?

For one, he could smite now. Which was handy with dealing with demons. Sam had to shake off more than one tailing him after he killed all those demons. Now that he was paying attention, Sam could tell when demons were near. His demon detection spanned the whole state. Also handy, but kept him anxious. There were always a few demons on his radar, but as long as they stayed far far away, Sam was safe. 

Secondly, he could push himself out of his body, like in the bar. And split his consciousness into two while keeping himself whole. Advanced multitasking, as he liked to joke about it. 

He could feel souls, beings or essences. He could read them, look into the person in front of him and see their whole life flash before his eyes. He’d know them, every part of them. It horrifyingly intimate and invasive. So Sam held the reigns on that as tight as he could, especially after the bar incident. 

Healing was another, like in River Pass, with Ellen and the others. Healing them, not only of their injuries, but from the spell that was placed over them. Pulling it away like a sticky film.

The thought had Sam touching the golden ring that hung on a chain on his neck. 

Sam had kept it, knowing it would be safe with him. The gold band still had that slimy, oily feeling along the edges of it, and Sam felt weird just touching it. But the feeling went away as soon as he thought about it. The burn eating away at the bad feeling in his fingertips when he pulled away. 

Sam’s mind traveled to Dean, which sent a sharp burst of pain in his chest. 

He had tried calling Dean many times over the time he had been gone. After the first growled conversation, where Dean threatened him over and over. He still believed that he had said yes to Lucifer, and nothing Sam said would convince him otherwise. Dean hung up the second time, and the third and fourth. After that, Dean didn’t pick up. 

Sam understood where Dean was coming from, he understood his hesitance and why he was doing this. Sam would probably be freaking out just as much had Dean said yes to Michael. 

But Sam  _ hadn’t _ said yes. He was still Sam, or, at least, being Sam was all he could remember. 

He pushed that thought away quickly, it was too confusing and alarming to think about. Being someone else and not knowing it? Like a severe case of amnesia with a car full of baggage. 

But Sam also knew he wasn’t Lucifer. Sam had felt him coming out of the cage, screaming in freedom and relief. His heart ached at the sounds he had heard, and Sam had to shove that away quickly, too. Sympathy for the Devil got you nothing but trouble, and Sam was already neck deep in enough of that. 

 

The soft pat-pat-pat behind him had Sam turning on his heel, gun raised and body tense, ready for a fight. 

It was a dog. A black dog with a dusty gray spotting along his face. 

Sam lowered his gun, a sheepish look on his face. 

He moved forward slowly, hand reaching out to the dog. 

“Hey there, buddy. What are you doing out here?” He called to him, kneeling down on the dirt road. The dog patted over, sniffing his hand before licking it, his butt wiggling the whole time from the force of his tail wagging. 

Sam didn’t care about the abundance of dog drool on his hands as he moved to pet the dog, fingers brushing through his fur and scratching behind his ears. He made ridiculous baby talk to the dog while he did. Plenty of ‘good boys' and ‘sweet boy’s in there. 

“You are so handsome, you know that?” he told the dog. A woof was given back to him.

‘ _ Yes _ ’ 

Sam paused, looking down at the dog with wide, startled eyes. 

“Did… did you just talk?” he choked out, hoping he was wrong. 

‘ _ Always talk, need listen _ ’ the dog’s mouth did not move, but he wuffled in his throat. 

“Oh God, i'm going crazy.” Sam muttered to himself, thoroughly freaked out. He stood quickly, hands gripping tightly into his hair as he paced back and forth. He stopped after a bit in front of the dog, who had not moved from where he sat or had stopped wagging his tail. 

“What are you? Some sort of supernatural creature?”

‘ _ Am dog, Father. _ ’ 

“No, I mean, what kind of dog?”

‘ _ Dog. _ ’ 

Either the dog was messing with him (in which, what the hell was his life coming to?) or the dog didn’t possess the mental fallacies to fully understand what he was asking.  

Sam watched the dog warily, contemplating for a moment before heaving a sigh and reaching out with a hand with warm fingers to the dog. 

The dog moved forward excitedly, butting his head right into Sam’s hand. 

The Grace within his hand slid forward and touched the dog, gleaning information about him for Sam. 

He was a Boxer mix, with a bit of German shepherd in there. He came from a long line of stray and wild dogs who lived in the area. And he was a distance descendant of a German shepherd that had been blessed by the pagan triple goddess, which gave this dog a bit more of an understanding of things than a normal dog would. He also felt overwhelming love and excitement from the Boxer, directed towards him. 

Sam healed a few things within the dog without much thought as he pulled his hand back. Arthritis creeping into the back legs and heartworms. 

He stared down at the dog for a long time. 

“So I can talk to dogs now?” he asked rhetorically.  

‘ _ Talk to all, Father. _ ` the dog wuffled. 

“Why do you call me that? Father?” 

‘ _ Are you, Father _ .’ 

“What do you mean?” the dog looked confused at his questions, like he couldn't understand why  _ Sam _ wasn't getting it. “Nevermind.” Sam ran another hand through his hair. 

“What’s your name?” 

_ ‘Am One who Runs’ _ the Boxer informed him. 

“One who Runs?” the Boxer barked in confirmation. Sam paused for a moment. “Mind if I call you Rush?” the dog wagged his tail faster, moving forward to butt his head against Sam’s knees. “Ill take that as a yes.” Sam chuckled. 

 

After that, Sam continued on, Rush following close even after Sam told him he didn’t need to follow. 

_ ‘I follow, Father _ .’ was all Rush had said and that was that. 

Sam didn’t mind the company, and he loved dogs. 

What he did mind was how many started showing up. 

It seemed like, when Sam went to sleep that night, camping just within the woods, Rush had went back to the other dogs he had been living around and told them about Sam. 

The next morning, Sam had three dogs. The morning after that, 7. 

After than 10.

After that 14. 

Sam finally put his foot down when 17 dogs started following him. 

“Guys, I love all of you. But it's getting crowded.” Sam had finally said. The dogs varied in size, shape, color and breed. Even in age. There were some puppies trailing along, and Sam often found himself carrying a few while he walked. 

The dogs all boofed at him in different pitches. Some had voices like Rush, others had more of a presence to them, thoughts that didn't morph into words for him but emotions that he could pick up on. 

Rush was by far the most cognitive, which was probably why he found Sam first. 

_ ‘We follow, Father. _ ’ Rush woofed. 

“I know, but at this rate we’re going to get overcrowded and possibly over hunt the area. I dont have enough to feed you all.” Sam said. The dogs all whined sadly at him, their tails drooping. 

Sam would never admit to anyone just how fast he broke under the onslaught of puppy eyes they gave him. 

“Ok ok, fine. You can stay, but we need to set up some sort of routine or turn-taking so things don't get crazy.” the dogs all perked up, tails and butts wiggling happily. 

 

After that it stayed around 15 to 17 dogs with him at any given time, but what dogs were with him changed out. Rush was the only constant, staying next to his side and helping keep the other dogs in check. 

Sam would curl up at night, surrounded by dogs and admittedly happier that he’d been in a long time. There was something about being surrounded by the dogs unconditional, free love that soothed something within Sam. 

During the day they all trailed along next to him, him leading the front of the group. Sometimes one or two would run ahead, then run back, rabbits or birds in their mouths that they would then share with the rest. Some would sniff around the woods, woofing if they smelled something strange. 

The one time a singular demon came upon them, one that Sam had felt miles off, the dogs reacted strongly, circling around Sam and pouncing on the surprised hell spawn. They kept it distracted long enough for him to burn the demon out of the host. After healing up the woman the demon had inhabited he tested something out. 

Placing two fingers on the woman’s head, he sought a small scrap of information. Where she lived floated through his head and he focused on the images he saw there. With a tap of his fingers, she was gone. And Sam knew in his gut he had succeeded. 

“Handy,” he mumbled to himself, rubbing his fingers together. He remembered how Cas would fly them places, with a touch of his fingers they would be there. It was what inspired Sam to try it on the woman.

Castiel, now that the thought of him fluttered through Sam’s head he couldn't shake him. For the next following days, Cas was all he could think of. The brave little angel that tried to stop the apocalypse and who defied heaven for them. Sure, he made mistakes, but he was learning and trying his best to make good decisions and that was something Sam appreciated. 

One night, about  a week after the demon, Sam had a strange dream.

 

_ He was drifting, bodiless, formless. He was the mist over the ground and the clouds in the sky, He was the turn of the Earth and the gravity of the stars. Holding it all together and able to unravel it all with a thought. He could feel each and every being there was, each life humming against the edge of His consciousness, each beautiful and precious to Him.  _

_ But He was looking for one in particular.  _

_ With that intent in mind, He dove in, scouring the universe for pieces of that flickering light, of a Grace that had been scattered across the stars.  _

_ He picked the pieces up, the atoms of them spread so thinly across space. He pulled them together and collected them in His many hands. The light starting as a tiny, atom sized speck, but growing and growing the more He found.  _

_ A kaleidoscope of light danced across His perception as He traveled, His precious cargo carried and protected within Himself as He did. He peered at Creation as He passed, noting some things He knew to be wrong. The threads that tied Creation together were withered and breaking, the bad areas patched by a power He knew but could not name at the moment.  _

_ He knew they would hold. But not for long.  _

_ Pushing the notice back within Himself, He refocused on the bundle of Grace in His hands.  _

_ It was all there, every speck of their Grace collected and put back together.  _

_ But it was empty, no thoughts or feelings flitted through the Grace. It was still and quiet. And He found it unnerving.  _

_ He moved carefully in His next step, thousands of hands reaching out and pressing against a veil only He could feel. He pressed gently, digging His fingers in and prying an opening to the space between everything. _

_ The Empty.  _

_ Reaching through with many hands, He searched for them. _

_ The consciousness He sought laid sleeping among their brothers and sisters, others who had fallen. He mourned for them all, vowing internally to mend what was broken. But not now. Not until all was ready. _

_ He carefully picked them up, His power sliding over them and cradling them close as He pulled out of The Empty, smoothing His hands over the opening and closing it behind Him.  _

_ He poured them into the Grace He had collected, watching as they righted themself within and awoke soon after.  _

_ Feathers ruffled and resettled, hands and tail twitched, and, finally, a dozen eyes opened and looked up at Him. _

_ ‘Father?’  _

**_PEACE, MY CHILD. ALL WILL BE WELL._ **

 

Sam woke with a gasp, sitting up sharply and startling off a few of the dogs. He looked around wildly from where he sat, searching for a threat as his head spinned. There was nothing but trees and dogs scampering about, barking at one another.

Sam pulled in deep breaths, willing his heart to stop racing in his chest. 

It was just a dream, right? It felt so real but, as he tried to think on it more, bits and pieces slipped away, like they were sliding behind a glossimer curtain. A curtain he was afraid to pull back. Last time he did a bar was destroyed and he touched an angel’s wings. He wasn’t looking to see what he would do next. 

‘ _ Father? _ ’ Rush nosed his hand, which was gripping the ground, dirt and twigs crunching beneath his white-knuckle grip. Sam forced his hands to unclench, reaching out to pet Rush. 

“Im fine, just a bad dream,” Sam said, taking another deep breath. He pushed down the dream, opting to forget it for the time being. 

Knowing he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep, Sam pushed up from the ground to stand. Brushing off his pants, he looked around at all of the dogs, who were all awake and looking at him expectantly. It was twilight now, the sun almost peeking from the horizon. 

He breathed in the fresh air of the forest around him, pushing the grace within him down within himself.

Sam turned and headed back towards the road and onto the next town, grace a low humm just beneath his breastbone and over a dozen dogs trailing behind him. 

  
  


Unbeknownst to Sam, thousands and thousands of miles away, bright blue eyes snapped open, a light shining brightly within. 


End file.
